The Tallahassee attorney for the families of Michael Brown
and Trayvon Martin has one goal: proving that black lives matter

BY CARLOS HARRISONPHOTOGRAPHY BY MARK WALLHEISER

INTEGRATION CAME LATE TO
LUMBERTON, NORTH CAROLINA. It
wasn’t until fifth grade that Benjamin
Crump rode the bus to the other side
of town to attend what had been the
all-white school. One day shortly after
he started there, a classmate—a white
girl—pulled out a $100 bill to pay for her
lunch. “We were just in shock,” he says.

“I remember thinking, ‘My mother wouldhave to work two weeks to get $100.’”Most of the African-American kids ategovernment-subsidized—and largelylackluster—lunches. To prove it was herallowance and she could do with it as shepleased, the little girl bought all of themlunch from the “for sale” side—burgers andhot dogs and “the things kids like to eat,”Crump says.

“I decided then: I want to get to where my
people on my side of town can have a good
chance at life like the other people,” he
says. “I knew the reason we got to go to that
school was because of Thurgood Marshall.

And I said at that point: I want to be likehim. I want to be like Thurgood Marshallbecause I want to help my community.”His pursuit of that ambition has madehim an internationally known crusader, apublicity-savvy advocate and a sought-after champion for the families of fallenblack children.

It also has made him a recognizable
figure—the dapper man with the
trimmed mustache and close-cropped
hair appearing next to the grief-stricken
parents of Martin Lee Anderson, Trayvon
Martin, Michael Brown and others,
encouraging them to tell their stories
on cable and network news. Often,
demonstrators wave placards behind
them. It’s part of a deliberate strategy of
combining press and protests to force
attention on cases, to win those families
their day in court.

“That’s what it’s all about,” he says.

“We’ve got to prove to everybody in theworld that our children’s lives matter, too.”Framed newspaper and magazinearticles about those cases fill nearly everyeye-level inch of the hall that wrapsaround the interior of Parks & Crump’sspacious, yet unassuming, Tallahasseeheadquarters—and around the dark wood